


They Shall Remain With Hel If Any Gainsay It Or Will Not Weep

by Alienea, pleasekalemenow



Series: The Inherent Romanticism of Dragons [17]
Category: The Mechanisms (Band)
Genre: (there is comfort eventually just. not in this fic), Alternative Universe - Fantasy Setting, Cannibalism, Emetophobia, Emotional Hurt, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Hurt No Comfort, Other, Psychological Trauma, Suicidal Thoughts, and that! means morals are fucked! even when there ISN'T trauma, anyway rip to lyfrassir, listen. nyarl is a fucking outer god, very very brief plant vore but like. hollow knight level.
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-17
Updated: 2020-06-17
Packaged: 2021-03-04 03:22:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,003
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24756970
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alienea/pseuds/Alienea, https://archiveofourown.org/users/pleasekalemenow/pseuds/pleasekalemenow
Summary: They are constantly hyperaware of the open door behind them. And of the fact that at any point the others might turn tail and run. Lyf stays mostly because they don’t want to be sent home with a wound in their back. They. Don’t want Marius to be subject to the ridicule that would invite. As if cowardice, self preservation, whatever one wants to call it could possibly be worse than whatever “virtue” causes one to stay in an endless hell with people who hate you, who hate each other, who have nothing to gain here but the GRAIL and the glory....Lyf tries very hard not to consider why Odin wants the GRAIL.Why the others refuse to discuss what they might do when they get it.---A telling of Sir Lyfrassir Edda's quest into the Pyramid of the GRAIL.
Relationships: Lyfrassir Edda & Nyarlathrotep, Referenced Lyfrassir Edda/Marius von Raum
Series: The Inherent Romanticism of Dragons [17]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1832185
Comments: 36
Kudos: 108





	They Shall Remain With Hel If Any Gainsay It Or Will Not Weep

At the first beams of the sunrise filtering through the window of the Pendragons’ bedchambers, Lyf stirs themself awake out of what was a somewhat restless sleep anyway. It isn’t that they were uncomfortable; far from it. The kings and queen are excellent cuddlers, and their bed itself is plush with just enough give. It’s just hard to relax when you know you’re charging into certain death. And when the arms you find yourself in aren’t the ones you’re used to, the ones you want, the ones you love.

“Rising with the dawn, I see,” murmurs Guinevere drowsily from where she’s still halfway curled around Lyf. They turn to smile softly at her.

“Comes with the territory.”

“You’ve trained your body well in so many ways.”

Lyf chuckles softly, appreciating the attempt at humor. “It’s good to be appreciated.” They press a gentle kiss to her forehead as they hear a grumble from their other side. They turn their head to face Arthur. “Sorry to wake you, your Highness.” The man just grumbles some more.

Guinevere makes a soft hum, her tired version of a chuckle. “Takes more than some soft speakin’ to wake that one. Like a log.”

“A handsome log,” Lancelot murmurs beside her, face still buried in her neck.

“A prodigiously handsome log, yes,” Lyf agrees, the barest hint of a smile softening their features. 

“Have to go?” Lancelot’s eyes flutter open, looking up at them from where his lips are pressed to Guinevere’s skin. 

Lyf runs a hand through her hair, and where her hair meets his, their fingers run through it as well, tangling their hair together in a way that feels right. “Next I’ll come visit for a purely social call. No quest to call me away.”

“You’d better, or we’re going to think this ‘Marius’ is a figment you’ve made up to avoid joining the royal family.” Guinevere’s joking tone doesn’t really mask her concern. Another person Lyf will hurt wh- if. If they die in the pyramid.

“As if I would dare cross the mighty Pendragons.” Lyf kisses her softly, and there’s a loud snore behind them that makes them break it with a laugh.

“Wh- huh?” Arthur groans, wrapping his arms tighter around Lyf’s waist. “M’formally sentencin’ you to thirty more minutes of sleep. M’the king, ya daren’t defy me.”

Lyf wraps an arm around him, still facing Guin. “Oh no. Please, your Excellency, have mercy.”

“Do I look merciful ta you?”

Lyf turns to face him. His hair is badly matted from sleep, and his attempt at a stern expression is badly backfiring at his current level of consciousness (maybe a 3 on a scale of 0-10). “Yes.”

“Damn.” He presses a kiss to their side, making them sigh softly.

“Sorry to disappoint,  _ sötnos _ .” Lyf gently extricates themself from the cuddle pile with a kiss for each of them.

Lancelot rouses himself a bit more. “You certain you don’t want us to see you off?”

“Better not. I’ve. Been avoiding things that feel too much like...goodbyes.”

“Fair ‘nough.”

Lyf gets themself dressed as the other three snuggle back in. They aren’t being rude- Lyf asked them not to make a big deal of this. Makes things feel less final. 

(They feel final anyway, but less. Which is as much as they can hope for.)

“...You’ll see the letter makes it through?” Lyf goes through the motions of strapping on their armor, and they’re struggling with their breastplate when steady hands fasten them in place- Arthur.

“Of course, Lyfrassir.” His voice is gentle, like the rush of cool water over stones.

Lyf exhales softly, reassured. “Thank you.”

Arthur just hums, and continues fastening their armor before coming up to turn them around and kiss them. “Not goodbye. Just for luck.”

“Not that they need it, Art.” Lyf glances over at the bed to see Guin smiling at them fondly.

“I’ll take the luck of a king.” Lyf readies their blade at their hip. “I’m not so prideful just yet.”

Lancelot grins at them. “We’ll see how that lasts once you return with the GRAIL.”

“Your confidence in me is- oh, hi, sweetheart.” Lyf is interrupted by Björn nuzzling into their hip. They scritch his head affectionately. “The Pendragons will take care of you for a while, okay? I’ll be back to take you home to your dad soon as I can.” They press a kiss to his head as he whines, then crosses over to the door, not wanting to drag this out. It’ll only make things harder. They pause with their hand on the handle to look at the royals  one last time again.

Guinevere makes a shooing motion, smiling sadly. “Go, Sir Lyfrassir. The sooner you leave the sooner you can come back to us.”

Lyf opens their mouth to respond, but Björn is still nuzzling at their side, whining sadly, so they pull a treat out of one of their pouches and tosses it across the room. He runs after it with his tail wagging.

Lyf smiles past the heat behind their eyes and leaves.

  * • •



In all their travels, Lyfrassir has never seen anything like the pyramid before.

From afar, it looks like a perfect shape of gleaming obsidian, untouched by the ivies that should have covered it centuries ago, but as they draw nearer, the flat surface goes spiky, massive stone points coating it like spines. Malice and scathing emotion seem to roll off it in waves. By the time they can see where a hole has been blasted into it, they can also see that the spikes seem to follow them, angling towards them as they approach.

“...Well. Looks like we’re in the right place.” Sváva grips the handle of her battle axe tight.

Garm glances at Lyf. “Why do I get the feeling it doesn’t want us here?”

“Would you feel more comfortable if it was trying to lure us in?” Lyf asks, trying to keep their tone neutral and falling short.

“Suppose not.”

The group is stood in front of it, now, none of the spikes really posing a threat with the size of the opening, but. They’re all too aware of the fact that it could change again. Lyf aside, there are three knights- Tyr, Garm, and Dís- as well as a valkyrie, one of the Queen’s elite. Sváva. She outranks them all, but she hasn’t been flexing that thus far. Lyf doesn’t quite know what to make of her. 

Tyr speaks up. “I hardly see any point in standing around wasting time. It isn’t like delaying will change anything.” 

Lyf looks to Sváva, as do the others. She’s still for a moment, and then nods. And so they advance, shifting past the spikes which radiate hatred and betrayal, to enter the strange pyramid of the GRAIL.

From the outside, the entrance room looks barely large enough for the full party. On the inside, it seems large enough to fit the same group five times over. The room also lacks any plants, although they come right up to the edge. Inside the pyramid is strangely clean, at first, of all except crumbled pieces of the tile that make up the dark grey walls. The walls are covered in writing, repeating the same messages, over and over. Besides the messages, there is nothing in the room except for a door, set into the far wall. It is made of wood, and despite the exposure to the elements, it looks as fresh as any of the doors that Marius had made to replace the broken ones in his new estate. An unknown metal is set into the wood, and there, the message repeats, a final time.  _ This is not a place of honor. The danger is still present, in your time, as it was in ours. The danger is unleashed only if you substantially disturb this place physically. This place is best left shunned and uninhabited. _ As the message is read, the malice from the exterior of the pyramid ceases to be quite so overpowering, and is replaced with a deep sense of betrayal and grief. It’s terrible, and yet.

...There’s no real option.

“Forward.” Sváva’s voice is quiet, but firm. There’s no room to argue. To return now would be worse than a disgrace. Before them, death. Behind them, death.

“...I’ll go first.” Lyf steps forward to open the door. It’s...heavier than they expected. The room they step into is much the same as the one before it, except, curiously, there are faint hints of plant life, despite none having existed previously. That sort of takes a back seat to their confusion as they hear a voice so tired that it drags at their bones, makes them want to lie down right there whisper,

_ “Not again.” _

Lyf looks around, but when they look behind themself there’s just...the open door, but no one is behind them. It- has to be a trick, right? They wouldn’t have- they couldn’t have left so quickly in full armor, not without Lyf hearing. This...it has to be a trick. Lyf turns back forward and keeps walking, ignoring the cold dread creeping into them. The next room is pretty much the same, just a bit more worn down and overgrown. As is the next room. And the room after that. Lyf walks through ten large rooms before turning around to see- 

The same open door, the same view of the exit.

Lyf feels ill. Are they even going any deeper?

...Nothing to do but keep moving forward.

The change is so gradual, rooms becoming more and more overgrown, that after at least a day walking forward alone they don’t initially notice the change until they hear a scream:  _ Tyr. _ They draw their sword and run and see-

What looks like a giant closed maw made of...plant fibre? Its roots are embedded in the dirt, because at some point the tiles gave way to actual ground, and where the mouth (?) is shut there are bits of vine that almost look like teeth. Lyf readies their sword, but before they can recover enough to do anything, there’s a horrible wet sound as the tip of a blade pushes through the plant flesh and tears down, making the maw seem to tense and then go limp as Tyr pushes through the hole he cut, covered in a slick opaque gel substance. 

“Fucking Christ,” he mutters, wiping his eyes clean before blinking at Lyf. “Lyfrassir, is that you?”

“Yes- fuck, where have you been?” Lyf rushes forward to help clean him as best they can, mindful to make sure they aren’t stepping on anything that looks like the inside of that horrid plant. “I entered and when I turned around everyone was gone.”

“The door closed immediately behind you- it did that every time. Each of us had to open it. I was...the last through.”

Lyf frowns. “And you haven’t seen any of the others?” 

“I found Garm and Sváva, we set up by a stream- I went out looking for you and Dís.”

“A  _ stream?” _

He chuckles bitterly. “What, is that where you draw the line with wild shit? Not at doors that take you nowhere and plants that try to eat you?”

“Not nowhere, we’re getting deeper.” Lyf glances at where they think they see movement in the corner of their eye, but there’s nothing but vines. They look back at him. “We have to be.”

“Right. Because this place would have no reason to toy with us, right?” Tyr keeps his blade drawn and begins to turn back, but as Lyf’s about to respond they feel vines creeping over their feet and slash down, cutting them off where they were wrapping around them and making them begin to recede. Lyf runs after them on instinct. “Wait- Lyf! Where the hell are you going?”

Lyf doesn’t respond, just following the vines back, and Tyr loudly groans before following. The forest quickly darkens around them, the thick vines blocking out whatever is supposed to be imitating the sun, and Lyf slashes through them until they come across a series of vine cocoons. They pull their knife.

“Make sure none of these things wrap around either of us,” They say to Tyr before cutting through the vines, revealing- a rotting skeleton in moldy rags. Lyf tries not to retch at the smell. They- they have to check. They cut through a few more, revealing more skeletons in various states of decay, including one in armor, but it’s not Asgardian, so they try not to worry about it. There are three cocoons left when they cut into one and see Dís, unconscious and loosely gripping the broken-off tip of an arrow. A damn waste. But he has a pulse, so...Lyf hoists him over their shoulder with a grunt of effort. His armor may not be the heaviest, but it sure as fuck isn’t light, and Lyf is already wearing armor of their own. They turn to Tyr. “Now, can you lead me to the others?”

Tyr gives them an odd look but nods, taking them back to the stream where he immediately fucks off to bathe. Garm is roasting something over a fire, and Sváva looks over Dís as soon as Lyf sets him down.

“...What did this?” she asks by way of greeting.

“Some vines.” Lyf hesitates. “This place doesn’t want us here.”

Her tone is carefully neutral. “Yes, that much is perfectly clear.”

_ I thought you weren’t coming, _ Lyf doesn’t say.  _ I thought I was going to die alone in here. _

“You think we’re progressing?” Lyf asks instead.

“If we weren’t, and this place didn’t want us here, it wouldn’t bother making things worse. We would just keep walking into the same room, again and again. Why work so hard to get us to leave if we aren’t getting deeper in?”

Lyf looks back in the direction of the door. It’s obscured by trees, but Lyf just knows that it’s there. “...I suppose you’re right.”

“It’s my job to be,” Sváva says, and her voice betrays an emotion Lyf can’t quite identify. They let it slide. It’s their job to submit to her.

It takes them three days to get through the jungle, all told, and when they finally find the next door- standing in the middle of the jungle, attached to nothing- and walk through it, looking back just shows the entry room. This room is smaller, colder, and more damp, but they just keep trekking through. They lose track of the time, a bit; at least a month passes walking through endless rooms, passing through halls like that of an abandoned castle, a desert (Lyf particularly hated that- they spent a week wandering before they found the door), and at one point a swamp with water up to their thighs with massive fucking leeches. It’s horrible. The air itself is permeated with betrayal and misery, the food they’ve managed to prepare has been rank and foul, and the tensions are...high, in general. They are constantly hyperaware of the open door behind them. And of the fact that at any point the others might turn tail and run. Lyf stays mostly because they don’t want to be sent home with a wound in their back. They. Don’t want Marius to be subject to the ridicule that would invite. As if cowardice, self preservation, whatever one wants to call it could possibly be worse than whatever “virtue” causes one to stay in an endless hell with people who hate you, who hate each other, who have nothing to gain here but the GRAIL and the glory.

...Lyf tries very hard not to consider why Odin wants the GRAIL.

Why the others refuse to discuss what they might do when they get it.

There’s another change when they open a door, and see the same gray tiles as the entrance room. From beyond the doorway, there’s quiet sobs that cut off when Lyf steps through.

_ This is not a place of honor! Why won’t they leave me  _ **_alone_ ** _ they can turn around the door is right there! _ The voice is the same, but now besides the exhaustion it impresses barbed grief inside of Lyf, tearing out of their chest when the voice quiets. They pant a bit, finding it strangely difficult to get air around the thorns that seem to grow in their chest.

“Fuck, what is that?” Dís points at the strange wheel in the center of the room. It’s like a solid circle, with thin slivers of every color running along it, a notch at the top pointing to one of them.

Lyf approaches it and reads the inscription on the plaque just in front of it.

**_Trader._ **

Lyf frowns. What could possibly be traded on this thing? “It...says ‘Trader.’”

Dís presses a hand to it and gasps. “Oh- You can- you just tell it what you want and it will give it to you, any information,  _ anything, _ I need to-”

“Dís,  _ wait _ .” Sváva’s order comes too late as he grips high on the wheel and then spins it, completely silent. The colors blur together dizzyingly, reminding Lyf of their nightmares before it settles on a thin, mint-colored sliver and everyone suddenly Knows that Dís just traded the ability to look back and gained the knowledge that they are, in fact, getting deeper into the pyramid, despite the door ever-present behind them. 

Tyr breaks the silence. “...What did you just do, Dís?”

“You know what he did,” mutters Garm. “Can you look over your shoulder?”

Dís swallows, turns his head to the side, and…looks over his shoulder with no problem. He chews his lip nervously. “...Maybe it didn’t work right?”

Everyone is quiet for a moment, staring at the Trader. Then, Lyf hears the voice again, so bitter it leaves a taste like bile in the back of their mouth.

_ Leave me to my death in peace. _

Lyf looks around. The others don’t seem to have noticed. They clear their throat. “Did...you hear that?”

Sváva frowns. “Hear what?”

_...Did you hear me? _

Lyf freezes a bit, trying not to panic. “Um. You didn’t…” Lyf nods a bit. “It was probably nothing.”

“...Nothing.” Her frown deepens a bit.

_ I could technically be called nothing. Hm. That’s a philosophical debate I haven’t had with myself yet. _

“Maybe. I don’t know.” Lyf clears their throat. “We should keep going. I don’t think we should...tempt fate with this thing.”

Sváva clearly wants to press, but she doesn’t, instead nodding and leading the others towards the door. Lyf hangs back just enough to sign discreetly, on the off chance this fucking pyramid knows Asgardian Sign Language:  _ YOU O-K? TRAPPED? _

_ Huh. I don’t think anyone’s tried any sign language on me. I’m- existing. Trapped, but I did it to myself, so it’s fine, really. You really should turn back, by the way. It just gets worse. _

_ CAN’T. _ Lyf keeps walking, brow furrowed slightly. They don’t know where to look when talking to this- this.

_ Bound to your task? _

_ DESCRIBE LIKE THAT, CAN.  _ Lyf pauses.  _ DUTY. IF ABANDON? CONSEQUENCE. _

_ Ah. Then I’m sorry. I can’t ease your path. _ There’s a pause.  _ I wouldn’t, if I could. The GRAIL shouldn’t be removed. _

_ DANGER FOR WORLD? OR DANGER FOR YOU?  _ Lyf’s expression is one of concern and mild confusion.

_ Both. More to me, I suppose. _

Lyf’s hands still for a moment.  _ SORRY. STOP, I CAN’T. WANT. CAN’T. _

_ I understand being bound to a task. I don’t blame you. I just can’t ease the way for you. _

_ FINE. EASY? NOTHING.  _ Lyf rests their hand on their hilt as they walk into the next room, one with rain that falls in sheets so thick they can’t see anything. But the Door is still behind them. And now, beside the Door, the Trader. 

They keep moving for a long time. Sometimes the pyramid talks to them. Well. Often, the pyramid talks to them. The others don’t seem to hear anything, and that’s probably for the best. They don’t bring up the voice again. True to its word, things keep getting worse, with the food growing scarcer and tensions growing higher. Save for Dís, who sticks fairly close to Lyf, and Sváva, who just continues to isolate herself further from the others.

(She has probably realized what Lyf already suspects. That they won’t all make it to the end. That the challenges are going to keep getting harder. That the puzzles will grow more punishing. That the monsters will grow more horrifying. That, at the end of the day, each of them is only going to look out for themself.)

They’re in another jungle, stormier than the first, when Lyf freezes at the sight of Dís sitting on a pile of vines.

“...Dís?” They take a tentative step forward, and he looks up at them with a gentle smile.

“Hey, Lyf. Area secure?”

Lyf is looking directly at the vines. “As...secure as it can be, yeah, are you...okay?”

“Of course.” He frowns. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“...The vines.”

“What about them?”

Lyf searches his face, looking for the anxiety that used to grip him at so much as the suggestion of plant life. They find only mild confusion. And then they realize.

_ He can’t look back. _

“Nothing, Dís.” They force a reassuring smile, and resolve to let the others know not to try to ask him for tales of home to regale them. Not that there’s been much storytelling, the past few months. Lyf doesn’t even know how long it’s been, anymore. “Come on, let’s do some hunting.” They extend their hand and lift him up, relieved when the vines don’t wrap around him, hold him down. He might not remember anymore but they do.

They’re handling things alright, they think, until the food runs out. The monsters at this point aren’t- they’re metal and horrible materials that even Lyf cannot eat, Lyf, who avoided hunger a little longer by eating insects and dirt. Before even the dirt ran out.

There’s always water. The pyramid says that it doesn’t want to be cruel. The irony is not lost on Lyfrassir, who feels the weight of the open door behind them with every step forward they take.

On their watch in a room full of ancient machinery that glows orange like the fire it spews, they return to the Trader, placing their hand on it as they visualize food, enough to keep everyone sustained for as long as possible,  _ good  _ food to lift their spirits, to make them happy. Maybe they can sing around the campfire together. Something to distract from the sounds of life going on outside- the storms, the birdsong. The things that are just beyond their grasp, and yet gone from them forever.

_ Even if it’s a matter of honor, you could leave. You could leave, and wander the world and never see the same place twice. _

Lyf sighs and whispers, their expression one of frustration, “You know it’s not that simple.”

_... I don’t understand it, but I do know it. I’ve seen it before. I don’t understand how not being able to go home is worse than this. I don’t understand why you would subject yourself to this when there are other, better options. _

“If any of us leave, the others will kill us,” Lyf hisses. “There’s nothing more vile than a traitor. And even if we agreed not to do that. I have someone I have to go  _ home _ to, someone I  _ love. _ ” Their voice cracks a bit. “I...I have to get home to him. I promised I would.” The voice is silent, for a while.

_ Love. I remember that. I can’t remove the door for you. But I’ll stop asking why you won’t leave. _

Lyf doesn’t say thank you, not when the birdsong is even louder in their ears than the song of the Black Box. They just spin the wheel, and a large pile of manna and quail jerky manifests.

And they Know that they’ve just traded away their ability to experience the love of others.

“...Fuck you, damn you to hell, you absolute worthless piece of shit fucking  _ devil _ .” 

_ I can trade back, if you walk through the door now. _ The voice has a desperate edge to it now, offering this deal.  _ I can make that happen. _

Tears burn behind Lyf’s eyes like fire, but their heart is ice. "I hope the rest of whatever life you have is so loveless it makes what you've just sentenced me to look like a honeymoon."

They turn around towards the camp, and behind them, the Trader erupts into flame.

...The others know what happened, too. Lyf knows, when they walk back with their arms and packs full to find them awake, that they Know. They can see it in their eyes. Lyf deposits the food, tense, and Dís places a hand on their shoulder, but although the touch is gentle it burns like acid. (Lyf would know.) They jerk away and sit down, glaring into the fire and trying very hard not to think of Marius, of the feeling of his arms around them.

They end up hiding some of their food in their satchel. They paid a heavy price for it, after all.

...Lyf tries to sleep with Dís, one night. He clearly wants comfort, and...they don’t think they can read his gaze right, anymore, but he used to look at them in a way that felt like something. He puts a stop to it before they’ve removed anything more than their shirts. He says a few things that don’t seem to fit and which hurt Lyf’s feelings before he gets frustrated and says he’s not a masochist, and that Marius never struck him as one, either. Lyf understands that just fine, which relieves him. Lyf wishes they could feel relieved.

_ Is there ... no, I can’t say that. Do you want to talk? _

Lyf is sitting alone by a river when they hear the pyramid. They speak softly, but they know it can hear them anyway. Their voice is full of venom. “What’s there to talk about.”

_ I don’t know. Whatever you want. You have to stay awake, anyways. _ The voice is back to just being sad. It can’t even quite manage the betrayal that laces the environment.

“Tormenting my daytime hours wasn’t enough for you?” Lyf glares out at the water. “Branching out into the night? What an exciting new enterprise for you. How goddamn pathetic do you have to be to get off on exacerbating the misery of someone with nothing to fucking live for, anyway? I know misery usually loves company, but you’ve made it absolutely  _ crystal _ clear that  _ you _ want to be  _ alone. _ ” They pick up a flat stone and throw it across the water with the deadly precision of a knife, but it’s too hard, and it only skips once before hitting at an odd angle and sinking. They scowl.

_ Okay. Goodbye. I won’t bother you again. _ There’s no emotion in the voice, now. Just a hollowness with nothing to resonate inside of it.

Lyf throws another stone, and it skips three times, but they don’t feel any better.

For a long time, the group labors under the delusion that when they get to each Door, they’re safe from the horrors behind them. Fenrir frees them from that delusion. By all logic, the wolf shouldn’t even be able to  _ fit  _ through the door; it’s larger than some trees they’ve seen here. And yet. The fucker fits through the Doors just fine, stalking them through several rooms, the lurker in the darkness, seemingly invulnerable to every attack they level against it. They lose themself, a bit, in the sensation of being prey, nothing to do but  _ run. _

And, eventually, Lyf slips, falls, isn’t fast enough. They always hoped their death would be over in an instant, but it drags on, snapped up by the maw of the hellhound, their bones shattered by the crushing strength of its jaw, their organs punctured by its horrible teeth, coughing up their own blood as they drown in their lungs, and it’s only after an eternity or a moment of this that their skull is shattered, their brain destroyed, and then they’re hearing the pyramid yell in their head,  _ no, no, not the only one that- _ it fuzzes into static, and the wolf vanishes like mist and Lyf can’t tell if it’s because they’re dying or something that’s actually happening.

And then they’re on the ground by the Trader, and they Know what deal was made. They turn, gasping in anticipation of an ache that isn’t there, and see Dís laying on the ground beside them. They pull him into their lap, ignoring the pain, and hold the man who was their friend, once. He caresses their cheek gently, gentle boiling acid on their tender skin, and murmurs,

_ “I want you to suffer here for eternity, bitch.” _

Lyf’s face falls, and they don’t drop him, but only because they’re too stunned by the sting of his words. Through the door, the warm glow of the sunset filters over his face, eyes going vacant as the others give him assurances that Lyf knows are hollow, because of course, there’s nothing here but misery, and they all know that, and they’re all trapped here, and they all  _ hate _ each other because the door is  _ right there _ if any of them could trust the others not to put a knife in their back the moment they turned towards the sun.

_ You don’t need to worry about Fenrir anymore. _

Lyf laughs manically, tears streaming cold down their cheeks, and they just keep laughing until there’s an intense pain behind their eyes and they crumple to the ground.

They wake up in another room. Dís is gone. They don’t talk about it.

Lyf doesn’t react when Tyr loses his arm to a falling blade beyond pulling him close and applying pressure to the wound. The touch isn’t loving, so it doesn’t even burn. They don’t think about it when he grabs his fallen limb. Everyone grieves in different ways, and the loss of a limb is worth grieving.

They also don’t react when he gets out some of seasoning and a knife to begin removing the skin off of his arm and prepare it to roast. It’s just. So  _ absurd _ . 

“...What are you doing?” The question is ridiculous, but Lyf can’t help but ask. As if there’s any explanation he could possibly give for seasoning and flaying his severed arm other than  _ I am going to eat this. _

“Making dinner. A week and a half’s too long to go without food.” Something in his voice reminds Lyf of the pyramid, and they absolutely refuse to examine that any further. The manna still in the pouch at their hip feels heavier than it should, now, and they have to remind themself that if the others are desperate enough to resort to-  _ this _ , that there is no way in hell they wouldn’t tear them apart to get to more food. 

Lyf just. Stares. There’s something in their brain that is absolutely refusing to process what is happening, even as the arm is put on a spit over the fire and roasted rotisserie-style. The smell is- it doesn’t bear describing. It’s quiet for a long time, until Garm’s voice breaks it.

“You going to share?”

“Fuck no. It’s  _ my _ arm. If you’re hungry you should lose your own. Trap’s still there.” His voice is far more casual than it has any right to be, and Lyf knows everyone copes in their own ways, but this is- it’s not  _ right. _

They manage to hold it together until they watch the flesh tear away from bone as he takes a large bite, and then they run a ways out to retch, bringing up only bile because even if they have food they don’t have  _ much _ and they’ve been rationing it. 

When they come back, it’s gone, and Tyr looks altogether too satisfied for a man who lost an arm today. Garm looks jealous. Sváva just looks empty.

A month or a year or an eternity later, Lyf is clearing out acid-spitting metallic wolves (always with the fucking wolves, Lyf never wants to see a wolf again as long as they live) when they become aware of the fact that Garm has just traded his honor in exchange for the knowledge of where to find food in the arctic tundra they’re currently trekking through. Sváva is optimistic, as is Lyf, and when they head back a few hours later, they find Garm over a pot of stew. Lyf’s mouth waters at the smell- even they ran out of food almost a week ago. The others...well.

“Where’s Tyr?” Sváva asks, and Lyf feels a pang that they didn’t immediately clock his absence.

Garm smiles excitedly up from where he’s ladling out bowls. “He said he heard something nearby, he’s just checking the perimeter.”

“Right.” 

He hands Lyf a bowl and they don’t have a spoon so they just tip it back, and it’s just meat and some greens and spices in what must be a pork broth but it tastes better than anything they’ve ever tasted because it’s actually  _ edible. _ They down half of it, careful not to spill a drop, and begin to pull out and eat hunks of the meat, savoring the way it melts on their tongue. They can’t help but moan at the pleasure of having something good to eat.

“Fuck, this is good.” Lyf looks up at the two of them, who are eating just as ravenously. “Thank you for...the sacrifice you made for this.”

Garm shrugs. “What is honor in a place like this, anyway.”

Lyf snorts. “Suppose you’re right.”

“Where did you get the meat for this, anyway? Did it lead you to animals?” Sváva regards him curiously over her bowl.

Garm says, cool as you please, “It’s Tyr, actually.”

Lyf doesn’t immediately stop. “Oh, Tyr tracked some hogs down?”

Sváva has already stopped eating, staring blankly at Garm.

“No.” Garm looks directly at Lyf. “It’s  _ Tyr.” _

Lyf blinks at him for a moment. Huffs a laugh. “No.”

Garm shrugs and tips back his bowl to eat some more stew, and Lyf draws their knife to tackle him to the ground.

“You  _ bastard!  _ How  _ could _ you?” Lyf slices into his skin and he rolls away, soup spilling to the ground and melting the snow.

“I saved your  _ life _ , you should be  _ thanking _ me!” He rolls on top of them, trying to wrestle the knife from their hands, and after squeezing their wrist hard enough to break a fragile bone, he succeeds, just as Sváva is about to pull him off, and he sprints off towards the Door, disappearing into the trees beyond. Sváva glares in his direction, but hoists Lyf to their feet with their good arm. She regards them for a moment with an expression of resigned grief.

“I can’t hug you.”

“I know.” Lyf holds their injured wrist close to themself.

“I’m...sorry.” That makes it through okay. “...We should keep moving. I don’t want to waste any more time. We have to be close to the center by now.”

Lyf nods weakly and follows, considering grabbing more of the stew for a moment before immediately deciding against it. They nearly become ill, but. Now that the food is inside them. They see no benefit to losing the meal.

They’re almost at the center, now. They can just tell. 

Sváva is sleeping, it’s their watch. They’re mostly watching the Trader. They are...at their limit, frankly. They just need…

They place a hand on the wheel. They need to see Marius, or they won’t have the strength to go on. They’re beginning to forget the shape of his mouth. They’re about to spin it when they hear the pyramid’s voice once again.

_ I can do that for you. Without a trade. It’s not- the trade won’t be worth it. _

Lyf stills their hand but doesn’t remove it. “What could possibly be worse than me being unable to ever touch him again. Would you kill him?”

_ No. And I just offered to do it without a trade. The trade that would work, for that... if you did leave, you wouldn’t be able to see him again. You would always remember him and never be able to see him again. He could be right in front of you and you wouldn’t see or hear or even recognize that there was someone in front of you. So please let me just- do it. Without the Trader. _

Lyf’s hand falls to their side as hot tears of rage and grief fall. “...Fine.”

_ Right. An image of him, as he is now. _ A mirage begins to form in front of Lyf, but then it shatters. For once, emotion returns to the voice of the pyramid. Surprise.  _ I can’t... is he under any protections? That would stop a scry? _

Lyf frowns, stomping down panic. “He shouldn’t be, he was- he was just in Asgard, there shouldn’t be any magic around him…” They are barely stopping themself from catastrophizing.

_ I can’t find him. I’m sorry. _

Lyf spins the wheel. Nothing happens. They fall to their knees and weep.

When they reach the final door- it doesn’t matter how much later, anymore. Nothing really matters. It’s locked. The first one  _ to _ be locked.

Lyf doesn’t need to touch the Trader to know a deal is what it will take to enter. They get a small monologue from the goddamn pyramid anyway.

_ It takes whatever matters most to you. That’s the deal. That’s what you have to trade to take the GRAIL into the world. _

“...I’ll spin it, Sváva. You have a wife to get back to, don’t you.” They give her a bitter smile, and she scowls- no, she probably is giving them a reassuring look, they remind themself. She isn’t...cruel. Just the pyramid.

“I thought you had….”

“No.” Lyf doesn’t elaborate. “And the Pendragons will care for my dog and my horse. I don’t have a care in the world.” They laugh bitterly and spin the wheel.

And nothing happens.

_...You don’t have anything to trade. You said it yourself. You don’t have a care in the world. It can’t trade. There’s nothing to balance. _

The irony is too much, and they laugh silently, tears streaming down their face, and punch the Trader but it’s as if it’s reinforced with metal and all they accomplish is re-breaking their fucking wrist. Dammit. 

Sváva gently (fuck fuck fuck their  _ skin _ ) moves them out of the way and spins it herself. The door opens, and Lyf Knows that she’s just lost the memory of her wife, Helgi. And, for now, she knows it, too. She turns to them, grief written across her face, and Lyf is already drawing their knife with their good hand and standing before the words even leave her lips.

“Please, kill me, while I still at least remember that I’ve forgotten.”

It isn’t hard. She doffed her armor three deserts ago. They bury their blade in her heart, their own withering away as she falls to the ground. Then they stalk through the open door into the chamber of the GRAIL.

There’s a final circle of warnings around the GRAIL, and they radiate desperation, like they’re aware that they’re a final barrier and that once crossed there is nothing between the GRAIL and whoever has found it. The words are the same repeated over and over in what is now a grim irony.  _ This is not a place of honor. This is not a thing of honor. Do not disturb it. _ But Lyf no longer has a choice. The tiles otherwise mimic the entrance room, whose door is still behind them, and the GRAIL itself lies with no pomp or circumstance on the floor, as though it was dropped. There is even a dent in the rim.

There is no resistance when Lyf picks it up, just a mournful sigh that cuts off as the GRAIL is moved.

“This hunk of tarnished metal is what you ruined countless lives over?” they murmur to their friend, their tormentor, the pyramid. But there’s no response. It’s, at last, at peace.

As they exit the corpse of the pyramid through the doors that have haunted them for time untold, it crumbles to rubble, then disintegrates, shining black dust on the forest floor. And they hear a new voice. Quiet, hopeful, resigned.

_ Maybe it will turn out this time. _

Lyf does not respond. They’ve had enough of voices.

Lyf leaves Björn with the Pendragons. There’s no one in Asgard they trust with him after they’re gone. If they’re wrong they can come back here together anyway, like they promised.

Ah, promises.

The GRAIL tries to tempt them. But it has nothing to offer them. And they’re well-practiced in resisting the call of malignant artifacts.

“Sir Lyfrassir.” 

Lyf is bowing low in front of Odin. Easy enough to do when their spirit is broken. “My Queen. I have returned.” Their bags are already being searched, so they now it’s only a matter of time before they find the GRAIL. Good fucking riddance.

“Alone, I see.”

“The dangers were far beyond anything you warned us of.” They barely mask the contempt in their voice. What will she do? Kill them?

“Ah. How unfortunate.” Her smile isn’t marred by their curse. She means no kindness by it. “Well. Did you at least get what you left for?”

“You have my bags, your  _ Highness. _ ”

_ These vibes are rancid. No thanks. I’m not doing this. If you want to get rid of me at least find someone who doesn’t reek of rancid energy. _

“...Of course.” She turns her attention to the person with their bags, who shakes their head. She frowns. “...Nothing to show for it?”

Lyf’s stunned for a moment.  _ Right. And your vibes are just fucking peachy. _ “Well. Not nothing. Plenty of trauma. Plenty of scars.” Odin is not impressed. Lyf doesn’t care. They continue. “Where can I find Lord Marius?”

She glowers at them. “I’m afraid he departed to slay a terrible dragon several months ago and hasn’t been heard from since.”

_ Well I think we can agree that no one wants to see the multiplication of my vibes and her vibes. _

Lyf doesn’t respond to the GRAIL, nor do they excuse themself properly. They just turn and leave, hand already on the hilt of their blade. They have nothing left. The cup of life has turned out to be a cup of death, after everything. They should have run away when Marius said.

When they arrive in their empty quarters, sword drawn, the GRAIL is sitting on Marius’s side of the bed. They thought their eyes were long since dry, but at the sight, they break down, weeping. Marius is  _ gone _ . They didn’t want him to come look for the GRAIL with them, it was too dangerous, but he- they sent him to slay a fucking dragon. Maybe the actual Sir Marius could have handled it, fuck, maybe  _ they _ could have handled it, but Marius never had the training they did, and he hasn’t been seen in months, and he’s dead, he has to be, and it’s their bloody fault because they brought him back here instead of just letting him go, and they convinced him to stick around because they love him but they just put him in danger. Fuck, they’re so stupid. They never even told him they loved him, not in person. And all they have to show for their grief is a stupid fucking cup.

Nyarlathotep has been inside the GRAIL for a very long time. Centuries, in fact. Since ce erected the pyramid, and inhabited it, and sat in it waiting to get to die. That didn’t happen. Ae didn’t even get left alone for long- zir cousins’ pawns broke open the outer wall. And then followed centuries of invasion and finally Lyf and party. Lyf was the most interesting thing to happen since the pyramid was made. Maybe, if she had to get picked up and brought back into the work, they could at least work together. And now there was a reason for Lyf to use xer power, and Nyarl had to mention that ce could help before the Black Box could. The Black Box might have opened Lyf to eldritch influence but Nyarl was going to get a deal first.

_ Do you want revenge, Sir Edda? I can help you with that. Quite easily. And I think you’ll find I’m the only one who will. _

Lyf recognizes the voice, and they try to calm down, to wipe their face dry. “Y-you’ll say anything to g-get me to use y-you. M’not s-stupid.”

_ If I lied all the time, no one would summon me. Hm. Actually, that’s a good tactic, noted. But no. I’m not lying right now. I’m offering you the power to carry out your revenge. There is a price, of course. Letting you use that much of my power means that you won’t be able to ignore me any more. And you might never truly get rid of me. But you will get your revenge, and after, we can renegotiate our terms. _

Lyf worries their thumb over the hilt of their sword, face twisted bitterly. “Wh-why the fuck should I c-care about revenge? Won’t b-bring him back.”

_ No. It won’t. And any one or thing that offers to bring him back is lying to you. But it might give you peace of mind. Or, if you prefer, stop others from falling prey to the same misfortune. Dragons often don’t stop at one. _

Nor do amoral pyramids of unfathomable power, Lyf thinks bitterly. Bringing that down did give them some sick satisfaction. “...Why the hell not. You literally. Cannot take anything more from me. I can say that with absolute confidence.” They feel sick.

_ No. I don’t intend to. Well, your time. I’ll give you my power to use on your revenge, and in return you have to put up with my company. Is that acceptable? _

The prospect does little to help Lyf’s nausea, but they nod. “I accept your Trade.”

Lyf had had on gloves. But now the GRAIL is in their hands, and there are no gloves, and it probably could have done that any time it wanted to, it must need the permission of a trade in order to do this , but Lyf doesn’t have time to ponder because the GRAIL is inside of them. From the outside, it looks like ivy growing through Lyf, and the GRAIL is pruning and watering and fertilizing it, making the vines green instead of withered and brown-rainbow, and void-dark magic starts to flow through Lyf.

The void stands in front of Lyf now, a vaguely human-shaped slash of void in the world, and it takes the GRAIL from Lyf before tucking it inside of emself.  _ You can learn the basics of how to use my power on the way. I’ll teach you. And when you stand in front of your target, I will be there, to help you. _

Lyf looks up at xir, cheeks drying as a bitter, hollow emotion subsumes their grief. They can’t bring themself to thank this thing, not when it is the thing responsible in many ways. They nod.

_ I did a bit of looking around. _ The void holds out a map.  _ Here’s a map to the dragon you loved one was sent to. No one should notice its disappearance. I mixed up all of the records. _ The void manages to smile.  _ Which was fun! And now you have the map. _

Lyf takes it and inspects it, face setting in stony resolution. The void fades out, but the presence of it remains, a tangible weight inside of Lyf. It doesn’t stop them from feeling empty.

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> sorry snailarmy you shouldn't've trusted us


End file.
